


maybe we’re noise

by answered



Category: Produce 101 (TV), X1 (Korea Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Cho Seungyoun is Whipped, Cho Seungyoun is an Idiot, Idols, M/M, Romance, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, let's make that a tag, let's make that a tag too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-19 07:50:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19970554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/answered/pseuds/answered
Summary: Wooseok is more than his face, and Seungyoun is more than his humor. Together, they unravel.





	maybe we’re noise

**Author's Note:**

> my first ever fully-fleshed out fic with plot progression and other nerdy things that make a story a story. the seungseok tag is dry (kinda like X1's twitter rip) so i thought why not make my own contribution.. and it's a long and angsty one. the angst wrote itself on this one i hope i make up for it though and i hope everyone enjoys this very self-indulgent fic i tried my best
> 
> title from "noise" by jung jinwoo which i neeeed everyone to listen to

_once again in the car that runs without purpose / only the wind of you blowing through the cracks /_

_i’m going to leave you at the end of the night / (although it’s not easy)_

_i’ll let go of the handle_

— **noise, jung jinwoo**

• • •

When Cho Seungyoun steps into the facility, he sheds fear like a second skin—he’s only ever seen this place on TV, confined into four warped corners of technicolor. Now he’s inside, enveloped between four watching walls, the target of perpetually- _on_ cameras and microphones.

When he made the decision to join the show, he did it under the cloak of a hazy-eyed, foggy night, thinking back on Wenhan and Yixuan’s own successful survival show endeavors and wanting the same for himself.

But now the day has finally come. He’s not shitting himself, like, at all. Really.

Look… truth is… Seungyoun’s scared.

Even with his extensive experience, he finds himself battling waves of novelty and fear—the daunting five-year contract, his insecurities _and_ his strengths splayed out in HD detail to be poked and prodded at until he unravels, would be enough to unsettle anyone. If he were someone else, it would be easy for bravery to creep away from him, for courage to seep out of his fire-hot body like blood from a wound. 

But that’s not the kind of person he is—and definitely not the kind of person he wants to be, not here. Here, he wants to show his best side and _win_. 

Seungyoun is aware that he’s _old_ here. Probably not the oldest, but older than most; it’s glaringly obvious as he waits for the rest of the hundred-and-one trainees to appear. 

Around him, babe-mouth trainees crowd like bees, buzzing with restlessness and nerves. Youth emanates off their forms like heat. Their sprightly bodies slip into their seats—some beside him, some below him, those braver than him choose spaces even higher than his own chosen rank of 12, but never in the throne. 

As trainees fill in the seats around him, he grows self-conscious. He has to distinguish himself from the rest in any way he can, and the only way he knows how is by making people laugh. 

Instead of fear, Cho Seungyoun chooses to don humor like a shield—when someone finally sits in the number one seat, he sees the opportunity and strikes, joking tone rolling off his tongue like prayer. 

“How’s the air up there?” 

He’s hyper-aware of the cameras pointed at him and of the microphone strapped to his back. Years of experience tells him what he looks like: twinkling eyes, cheeks rounding into full moons, hair falling across his forehead in straight bangs.

When he smiles, his eyes curl into crescent moons and his cheeks push out to the side—that’s the role he’s chosen, the one that’s gonna help him win this entire thing: comic relief. It’s not forced; he’s always been extroverted, fiery, and full of fun. A jokester. But this is just the beginning; now, he has to be _louder_ , too, to be heard over 100 rowdy boys and appeal to the audience.

As more people file into the room, he continues to crack jokes. When people laugh in return, it fills him with warmth. Being able to impact people is why he became an idol in the first place; he found some of that dream fulfilled in UNIQ and he’s finding it here again, occupying the funny elder brother role to the younger trainees, some almost full decades his junior. 

And so it goes for a while: him and other trainees parrying witty remarks, as laughter bursts out around them, masking the nerves he’s sure everyone feels.

However, when two new trainees walk in—he vaguely recognizes one of them, he thinks—the atmosphere changes, the room falling silent as everyone, including him, grows tense. 

Seungyoun is not a man intimidated by much; he’s talented, he’s not terrible-looking, and he’s experienced enough to not cower in fear of others. But these two—especially him, the shorter of the two with a sharp jaw and cold eyes—are different. 

Seungyoun’s eyes flicker to the screen and he nods, finally, in understanding: TOP Media’s trainees Lee Jinhyuk and Kim Wooseok have finally arrived. Like him, they’re previously debuted. There’s a lot of them this season. 

Beyond that, Seungyoun doesn’t know much about them, but he _does_ know that their entrance sends a chill into the air. As they ponder their chosen ranks, a number of trainees begin to shift uncomfortably in their seats, intimidated. Even Song Yuvin, the funny Music Works trainee, falls silent. 

To his surprise, the TOP Media trainees choose seats near the bottom, even lower than him. As they sit, everyone lets out a collective sigh, allowing the steel to exit their bodies. Seungyoun glances down at them once more, eyes lingering briefly on the stunning, cold Kim Wooseok, before moving on—he has a performance to ace.

• • •

Produce exists in a vacuum, a fishbowl world of its own whose only escape is either through elimination or withdrawal. In this world of no-escape, Kim Wooseok is beautiful, distant, and unapproachable. He’s also _everywhere_.

Somehow, they both ranked B. In B class, Seungyoun is surrounded by those with the potential for A but still in need of some work. When he received his grade, it stung slightly and hurt even more when he saw the assigned shade of orange.

Rather than let it show, Seungyoun did what he does best: he plastered a smile on his face, cracked a joke to the surrounding trainees, and resolved to work harder towards obtaining that sparkly pink.

Currently, B Class is in a self-led dance rehearsal, practicing X1-MA’s choreography until it’s ingrained into their muscle memory, moving _them_ just as much as they’re the ones practicing the moves. Seungyoun is sweaty beyond belief, body pouring rivulets of perspiration until his unsightly orange tee clings to him in moisture and his mouth hints of salt and labor.

In the mirror, he watches his own body move forcefully, hitting every beat with purpose; his joints protest, but he pushes himself harder. By the ache in his stomach, he knows it’s late, and it’s been a while since dinner but becoming worthy of an A won’t happen without hard work.

...even if hard work means pushing himself until he collapses, his exhausted body hitting the ground with an unfortunate thud that does absolutely _nothing_ for his back. Around him, younger trainees rest, taking hydration breaks, some more playful than others.

Excited shrieks resound throughout the room. What he would give for boundless amounts of energy…

“You look horrible,” he hears from above. With a beleaguered sigh, Seungyoun raises his head, pries an eye open... and startles when he sees who it is—

Kim Wooseok.

Seungyoun rushes to sit up, though his body groans as he does. Wooseok looks down at him, hair matted against his forehead and cheeks ruddy from exhaustion. Even like this, overworked and worn, he’s a vision in orange—truly Produce’s Prince.

Above him, Wooseok stretches a hand out, offering a sports drink. Grateful, Seungyoun takes it, though he’s unsure of how to continue.

Joke? Thank him?

At first glance, Wooseok’s blank expression doesn’t give away any answers, but when Seungyoun looks closer, he sees amusement riddled across his face. It’s in the slightly raised eyebrow and tilted corner of his lips, the hint of amusement in his eyes—not obvious, but there once you look.

Seungyoun takes a chance.

“Not as bad as you,” he quips, opening the drink and taking multiple sips, enough to halve it in just a few seconds. He hands it back to Wooseok who shows no reservations about drinking after him and has some as well.

An unbidden part of his mind speaks up: an indirect kiss.

Seungyoun’s body jolts in surprise. Where did _that_ come from? And why was _the_ Kim Wooseok talking to him of all people?

As Seungyoun panics, Wooseok steps forward and lowers himself down beside him, shooting Seungyoun a pointed glance as he does. “I _never_ look bad.”

His eyes flicker over Wooseok’s face, catching on the pink of his cheeks and and sweat pooling at the bridge of his nose; he’s right. He never looks bad.

Seungyoun tries to laugh out a joke but stumbles over himself, the words getting trapped in his throat. Wooseok’s close. Really close, actually.

This is the first time they’ve talked since formal introductions a few days ago; despite their relative status as strangers, Wooseok doesn’t hesitate to nestle his body into Seungyoun’s heat, to curl his body into his own. A part of Seungyoun wants to protest—it’s way too hot from them to be this close—but the words die on his tongue.

Wooseok nudges his shoulder with his own. “Was wondering if you would ever take a break.”

Around them, the kids burst into laughter, but Wooseok is silent, waiting for a response. His finger taps out a steady pattern on the side of the bottle.

“I take breaks, Wooseok-ssi.”

Wooseok’s neck shoots towards him. “We’re the same age, Seungyoun.” He stresses his name. “Speak comfortably.”

“What if Wooseok-ssi _is_ what I’m comfortable with?” Seungyoun tries, his tone lilting and light as it bounces off his tongue. He’s joking.

The corner of Wooseok’s lip curls into a small smile. “Then you’re a lot different than I thought, Cho Seungyoun,” Wooseok says, voice straight and even. Despite his words, he doesn’t seem all that bothered.

“Fine, _Wooseok_.” Seungyoun stresses his name the same way Wooseok did his a few moments ago, but there’s a hint of laughter in his voice. “Just surprised Produce’s prince is slumming it by talking to me.”

“Prince?”

Seungyoun deadpans. “Don’t act surprised. You’re all like…” he gestures in his general area, “that.”

“All what?” When Seungyoun looks at him, there’s a smirk on Wooseok’s face and laughter written across his face. He knows what he’s doing.

“Nope, not hearing it from me,” Seungyoun huffs out, taking the almost-empty sports drink and downing the rest. Wooseok pouts at him.

“That’s okay,” Wooseok says, growing unusually serious. For a moment, he looks like the Wooseok of before, the Wooseok of fifteen minutes ago: the aloof but beautiful trainee with a distant look in his eyes and walls built up higher than Seungyoun could see. But as quickly as it appeared, the ice retreats from his eyes, his body loosening. “Don’t really want to hear it from you anyway.”

Seungyoun raises an eyebrow, curious. But before he can utter the _why not_ at the tip of his tongue, Wooseok is pushing himself up and away. 

“You’re different, Seungyoun,” is all he says before returning to the group of kids huddled in the corner. 

“Let’s do it really well one last time so we can rest,” Seungyoun overhears. Then they’re running through the dance again, with Wooseok leading the pack.

Seungyoun’s head spins, reliving their first and only encounter, savoring the phantom heat of Wooseok’s body pressed into his own. As he watches Wooseok move through the dance, something hot and heavy tickles at his throat.

Absentmindedly, Seungyoun curls a hand around his left hip, then glances down at the empty sports bottle in front of him.

He’s no closer to unraveling the mystery that is Kim Wooseok, no closer to tearing back the layers Wooseok’s built up until all that’s left is sinew and secrets, but slowly, the false image he held of an unapproachable man comes undone. Huh.

• • •

They fall into a pattern after that—Seungyoun the energetic, playful hyung who cracks jokes to lighten the load on the younger trainees and Wooseok the soft-edged caretaker who supplies water and breaks when needed. 

Together, the two run a tight ship in B class; every improvement by the trainees is an improvement for him, accomplishment brushing across his body like heat. At night, Wooseok meets Seungyoun in the middle and the two fall into each other, exhausted. Like that night during dance practice, Wooseok curls into him, the strong of Seungyoun's body acting as a reprieve from the efforts of the day.

But then they’re being evaluated and given their new grades. Wooseok gets moved to A—of course he does—and they’re being separated. When Wooseok leaves, he meets Seungyoun’s eyes in the mirror; there’s a promise there and something akin to regret, a missed connection.

Blurry-eyed and taken aback at the force of emotion in his chest, Seungyoun gulps down the emotion in his throat and looks away. Wooseok doesn’t look back.

• • •

But it’s not the end, not really.

After the chaos of X1-MA filming comes the Group Battle Evaluation. Keumdong calls _both_ their names. When Seungyoun joins the group, overjoyed at being _chosen_ , he makes eye contact with Wooseok and smiles a small thing, a mere curl of the lips unlike his usual bright, wide grins. They’re surrounded by others, but the moment passes between them quietly—something just for them.

A part of Seungyoun questions the intensity of the heat curling in his stomach; he’s only known Wooseok for so long, and this is a competition first and foremost. Internally, Seungyoun scolds himself for allowing anyone, even someone as beautiful as Kim Wooseok, to derail or distract him even slightly.

Being on the same team, however, means that it’s impossible to ignore Kim Wooseok—not that he wants to, really. Between running through the dance and assigning roles, the image of a distant, stunning Wooseok unspools in Seungyoun’s hands.

Being on the same team means moments like this—

Seungyoun and Lee Hangyul, a younger trainee Seungyoun finds himself growing close to, trading playlists during a break in rehearsal, only to be interrupted by an unusually energetic Wooseok.

“Is Seungyoun talking your ear off again?” he asks Hangyul, though the way he wraps himself around Seungyoun’s shoulder as he says it dulls any impact his words could have.

Hangyul eyes them oddly, lingering on Wooseok’s head curled next to his own, then smirks, perhaps emboldened by Wooseok’s teasing tone. “As always.”

“Yah,” Seungyoun exclaims, raising an arm to swing at him playfully, but Hangyul skirts away, laughing as he flees.

Wooseok extracts himself then; Seungyoun misses his weight when he does.

“Sejin’s okay now,” Wooseoks starts. Earlier, practice had halted due to Sejin’s struggles in practice. “Sihoon wants to run it a few more times then we can rest.”

“Is that why you came over here?”

“No,” Wooseok admits, smiling “wanted to annoy you.”

Seungyoun deadpans.

“...and invite you for a late dinner with some of the other trainees?” he tries, voice growing pensive. “Mainly Jinhyuk and some trainees we know.”

Seungyoun eyes him. Soon, they would be performing in front of a live audience; he figures dinner wouldn’t hurt, even if that dinner _i_ _s_ with the one person powerful enough to distract him.

Still, he finds himself answering, “Sure. We can go after,” and returning to their group with Wooseok at his side, his heat a steady presence at his side.

• • •

It all goes to hell two hours later.

When Seungyoun came to the show, he expected this part: practicing as a team until his bones creaked from overuse, collapsing to the floor with exhaustion as hunger gnawed at his insides.

He didn’t expect this: clawing his way to a standing position and nearly stumbling on his weak legs as he reaches a hand forward to help Wooseok up. Then, when finally upright, Wooseok reaching for the hem of his drenched tee and dragging it over his face to wipe his sweat—there, on his right side, a carbon copy of the mark on Seungyoun’s hip: a yellow, green, blue butterfly.

When he entered this show, he never expected to find his soulmate.

At the mark, Seungyoun stumbles over his feet, startled.

Wooseok eyes him, reaching a hand out to steady him. Now that he knows it’s there, Seungyoun’s gaze can’t stop flickering down to Wooseok’s hip. _His soulmate_. The heat swirling in his belly, the stars in his throat, the way he’s inexplicably drawn to Wooseok—he looks at the mark and it all makes sense.

“Are you still okay with a late dinner?” Wooseok asks, hand still warm and heavy on Seungyoun's shoulder. “You seem a little out of it.”

Seungyoun slows to answer, trying desperately not to blurt out _we’re soulmates_ or something worse. He meets Wooseok’s questioning gaze and swallows the truth, burying it under his tongue.

“Yeah,” he says, though it doesn’t sound too convincing. “You reek, though, so we definitely have to change first.”

He attempts to laugh off the lull in conversation, but the awkward tone of his voice is grating even to his own ears. Wooseok laughs as well, but it’s obvious: like Seungyoun, he doesn’t get what’s quite so funny.

• • •

At dinner, Seungyoun learns that _mainly Jinhyuk and some trainees we know_ translates to Lee Jinhyuk and Plan A’s Han Seungwoo and Choi Byungchan.

Like he does most trainees he hasn’t spent a significant amount of time with, Seungyoun knows them only vaguely—though they’re all previously debuted, in this lineup, Seungyoun is the only B. At some point, they even shared a room. When Wooseok and Seungyoun appear just moments after the others, Seungwoo sweeps Wooseok into a hug then lets Jinhyuk pull Wooseok into the space next to him.

Seungyoun tries not to smart at being relegated to the outside, but it settles against his skin weirdly. Seungyoun isn’t used to being the odd one out.

The night creeps along. As they eat, trading stories of their times with their respective groups, Seungyoun grows comfortable, offering tales of his experience as both UNIQ’s Seungyoun and as a soloist. Their late night outing passes in a haze of laughter, but memory of the mark on Wooseok’s hip haunts him, stops him from laughing and smiling as big as he normally would.

Seungyoun chances a look to his side, taking in Wooseok’s expression. The man in question is quieter than usual, retreating until his eyes grow cool and his jaw freezes in place, the very picture of distance. There it is: the side of Wooseok he doesn’t understand yet, the Wooseok that tucks into himself, honesty crawling off his face in favor of the cold mask he’s perfected.

He wants to reach out— _his soulmate_ —but he... stops short. Seungyoun’s laughter dies in his throat. 

Jinhyuk does it for him. Jinhyuk, who’s been with Wooseok the longest, who knows him inside and out, could deconstruct him with prying hands and put him back together with kind words.

When everyone is distracted by a story Byungchan’s telling about an Inkigayo sandwich he once received, Jinhyuk tucks his head into Wooseok’s and whispers quietly.

Seungyoun pretends he’s not eavesdropping, staring pointedly at the wrapper on his drink.

“Hey,” Jinhyuk starts, placing some meat onto Wooseok’s plate, “you okay?”

Wooseok smiles; Seungyoun can’t help but notice that it doesn’t meet his eyes. “I’m good, Jinhyuk.”

Seungyoun swallows the lump in his throat and resists the urge to rub his hip. He tunes back into the end of Byungchan’s story.

“...no one told me to check for paper so I ended up eating it,” Byungchan finishes with a laugh. Seungyoun joins in to make it look like he’d been paying attention, but his body burns. “Imagine if they had been my soulmate or something.”

At the word, Seungyoun’s body jolts; he ignores Wooseok placing a placating hand on his thigh. He burns where Wooseok touches him.

“How do you know they weren’t?” Seungyoun asks, hesitation clear in his voice. Warmth floods his cheeks.

Seungwoo answers for Byungchan, teasing him, a smile on his face as he says, “Byungchannie here already met his soulmate.”

“Hyung,” Byungchan whines, shoving Seungwoo. Under the poor lighting, his face glows red with embrassment. “Be quiet.”

Seungwoo laughs then turns his attention to the rest of the group. “What about you guys?”

Seungyoun stays silent.

“Not yet,” Jinhyuk says after a brief lapse in conversation, reaching for his drink. Wooseok keeps his attention focused on his meal. “Maybe they’ll love Frozen as much I do.”

Seungyoun lets out a startled laugh.

“That’ll be hard,” Wooseok says, speaking up for the first time in minutes. At the possibility of teasing Jinhyuk, his face lightens, grows lax where he had once been tense. “Believe me: no one loves that movie as much as Jinhyuk.”

Seungyoun says, “I don’t think I’ve seen it,” launching Jinhyuk—and Byungchan, surprisingly—into a long-winded tirade on why Frozen is Disney’s best princess movie.

By the time they return to the dorms, the topic of soulmates is long forgotten and Seungyoun can breathe easy.

For now.

• • •

It’s impossible to forget.

Between the end of rehearsals and their team winning—and Seungyoun’s life-shattering realization that Kim Wooseok is _sexy_ —Seungyoun doesn’t get the time to bring up his soulmark or Wooseok’s weird behavior during dinner.

Seungyoun’s body is stretched thin between the end of the last evaluation to the start of position evaluations, but no amount of stress can rid him of the memory of colored lines curled around Wooseok’s hip, taunting him every time he closes his eyes. Every look in the mirror, every shower, every glance at the mark on his hip, is a reminder of what he’s keeping from Wooseok.

When Wooseok almost singlehandedly helps their team win, Seungyoun grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him into an embrace. His chest is bare beneath his blue jacket, and their team _won_ , but all he can think about is the mark hidden beneath his jacket.

“Over two hundred votes,” Wooseok says into Seungyoun’s shoulder, laughing incredulously. He steps away; heat bursts in Seungyoun’s stomach. He looks so good like this—stars in his eyes, joy riddled across his face.

“Who knew you could be so sexy,” Seungyoun jokes, nudging Wooseok’s side.

Maybe it’s the lighting but Wooseok—who is never daunted, never embarrassed, who takes everything in stride—blushes, his cheeks coloring pale pink like a rose.

Seungyoun’s gaze flickers down to his hip before meeting Wooseok’s eyes.

Like this, tender and warm in the wake of victory, Seungyoun thinks he begins to understand.

• • •

First things first, Seungyoun is _not_ avoiding Wooseok. Not really.

It’s just—

Now that position evaluations have started, there’s little reason for them to meet. If he sidesteps Wooseok in the hallway, well, he’s busy preparing for the Yes or No stage. And if he pretends not to hear Wooseok call out his name, ah, well, he's just really tuned into the song.

It’s not intentional. Really.

Except—and these thoughts come unbidden, rising from a place where heat burns in his chest—it _is_ intentional. Seungyoun _is_ avoiding Wooseok and the mark on his hip and everything that comes with him.

Wooseok is beautiful and really funny once you tear down his walls, but he’s also guarded and weirdly introspective; almost without telling, there are days he buries into himself, hiding away from even Jinhyuk. Seungyoun loves—no—likes that about him, sees a bit of himself in Wooseok.

But when Seungyoun joined this show, it was for _himself_ , to move closer to achieving his dream. He had forgotten all about the butterfly opposite the gun on his hip and now he’s met the one person fated to him and it feels so right but the timing is so _wrong_ and he—

After.

He’ll tell Wooseok _after_ the show is over and they _both_ make it into the group. No distractions.

Not even from the one person who fills him with heat and makes everything feel okay.

• • •

“Wooseok hyung thinks you’re avoiding him,” Byungchan says to him one day, pulling him aside during the beginning of Move preparations. They had grown close after that first outing with Wooseok and the others.

Seungyoun almost feels bad about lying to him when he says, “I’m not.”

Byungchan eyes him, not amused nor convinced. “When was the last time you talked to him?”

“Yesterday.” Seungyoun eyes the laces on his shoes. “We talked at breakfast.”

“Asking him to pass the milk isn’t talking, hyung.”

“We talk,” Seungyoun insists, but it falls flat even to his own ears. “We’re just busy. You know that.”

“How come you’re only ever busy when Wooseok hyung asks?”

Seungyoun doesn’t respond. Guilty.

The door to their practice room opens, Hangyul and Kookheon entering with the others. The room grows exponentially louder.

“Byungchan!” Kookheon calls, moving gingerly towards them, mindful of his leg. “We got you dinner!”

Byungchan gestures at Kookheon to wait, before turning back to Seungyoun. “You need to talk to him, hyung. He thinks he did something wrong.”

When he walks away, Seungyoun is left with a burning mark on his hip and guilt lining his thoughts.

“What was that about?” Hangyul says once Byungchan joins them.

Seungyoun makes eye contact with Byungchan across the room.

Byungchan turns away. “Nothing.”

• • •

Seungyoun has always been a social butterfly and being on Produce accentuates that. Here, he’s surrounded by thirty other trainees hailing from different backgrounds and pedigrees; there’s a little bit of Seungyoun for everyone.

It’s why he gets along so well with Byungchan, Seungwoo, Kookheon, and Yuvin. Or with Yohan and Hangyul. Seungyoun even spends time with trainees like Nam Dohyon.

His gregarious nature is one of his strengths. Seungyoun understands _people_ , how to make them tick, how to use words to ingratiate himself, how to coax smiles out of even the most stubborn people.

Seungyoun doesn’t understand Kim Wooseok.

That’s the core of it. Seungyoun isn’t used to not knowing people, and Wooseok is an enigma—impossible to unravel because beneath one layer lays five more, peeling back skin to reveal unseen shields. He’s worse than an onion.

Seungyoun is also a people watcher; a part of the reason he excels socially is because he likes to observe.

Right now, watching Wooseok bond with his team for U Got It, Seungyoun questions the truth of Byungchan’s words. Wooseok seems fine to him.

Maybe he’s a little reserved, but that’s the way he always is. He does seem exceptionally close to Seungwoo, but Seungwoo is a good person, the best.

And there’s the matter of the mark. No matter how close Wooseok and Seungwoo get—Seungyoun watches the way Seungwoo unconsciously curls a hand over Wooseok’s shoulder, laughing at something Yohan said—Wooseok is _his_ soulmate.

He’s not really a possessive guy, and he has no reason to be worried. At all. Him and Wooseok aren’t even a thing; Wooseok doesn’t even know about his mark.

That doesn’t explain why Seungyoun is storming into U Got It’s practice during a break, agitation writ clear across his face, drawing the corners of his lips down.

“Wooseok,” he interrupts, “can we talk?”

Seungwoo, Wooseok, and Yohan turn to look at him.

Seungyoun eyes Seungwoo’s hand still on Wooseok’s shoulder. He bites out, “Now, please.”

All three of them turn to look at Wooseok—like usual, he looks blank. But the confusion is plain on his face when Seungyoun peers closer.

Seungyoun won’t resort to begging but for Wooseok—

“Please.”

Finally, Wooseok nods, gesturing towards an isolated corner of the room. Seungyoun follows behind him. He makes a mental note to apologize to Seungwoo and Yohan later.

When he stands before Wooseok, the words _I’m sorry_ die at the roof of his mouth.

Wooseok crosses his arms, defensive, tired of waiting in silence for words that just won’t roll off Seungyoun’s tongue. “Thought you were avoiding me.”

“I wasn’t,” Seungyoun starts to say but the look in Wooseok’s eye stops him. “I was. I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Wooseok scoffs. “If I hadn’t made Byungchan talk to you, I bet you would have kept ignoring me.”

He’s right. Seungyoun doesn’t know what to say at the hurt lacing Wooseok’s words. He wants to reach out and smooth the furrow between his brows.

He doesn’t. Instead, he says, “I’m sorry.”

Wooseok stares at him. “You’re so dumb.”

Which, yeah, Seungyoun knows that. It still hurts to hear it from the one person supposed to love all of him—even if they’re nowhere near the love stage.

“I’m dumb.”

“Yes.”

“Really dumb.”

“Well, I won't argue with you about it.”

Seungyoun almost wants to laugh at how miserable he feels, begging for forgiveness when he could have avoided all of this. Ignoring Wooseok is the worst decision he could have made.

“I’m sorry.”

Wooseok narrows his eyes, giving away nothing. “Is that all?”

Seungyoun hesitates before—

“Let me take you to dinner,” he blurts out. “To apologize.”

Wooseok stares, mouth falling open.

“I’ll pay, of course.”

“Duh,” Wooseok snaps. “It’s an apology.”

Right. Seungyoun gets the feeling that Wooseok is being deliberately hard on him… which he deserves.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say it again,” Wooseok says, expression softening slightly. He meets Seungyoun’s eyes. “After concept evaluations.”

“But I might get elimina-”

Wooseok shuts him up with a glance. “After concept evaluations and we _both_ make it through. Then you can take me out and apologize properly.”

Seungyoun nods, guilt festering like an open wound in his stomach.

“It’s a date.”

• • •

When he signed up for the show, Seungyoun never imagined that making it through to the top 20 would result in such a weight settling in his stomach. On one hand, he’s happy he’s gotten this far—and in the top 10 no less. On the other, a piece of him trembles at what comes next: a date with Kim Wooseok, his soulmate.

No big deal.

In need of guidance, Seungyoun seeks Seungwoo out. Byungchan’s out of the show, injured, and Kookheon had been eliminated earlier that evening in a tearful departure with Yuvin—so Seungwoo it is.

But Seungwoo’s not the best at emotionality. So all Seungyoun gets after confessing to being Wooseok’s soulmate and all the stupid stuff he’s done since is—

“You’re an idiot.”

“Hey!” Seungyoun glares at Seungwoo. “Hyung, I came to you for emotional support.”

Seungwoo looks at him then sighs. He cuffs the back of Seungyoun’s head. “You’re _my_ idiot.”

Seungyoun resists the urge to whine, throwing himself onto Seungwoo’s lap. Yuvin eyes him oddly from across the room, quiet after the day’s taxing elimination.

“I just didn’t want any distractions.”

Seungwoo sighs. “I know you don’t want to hear it but that was a really selfish decision to make, Seungyoun.”

Seungyoun stays quiet. He knows that, has thought about it on repeat ever since _he thinks he did something wrong_ left Byungchan’s lips.

“You’re not the only one involved here. I know I don’t know everything because, well, you know Wooseok.”

Seungyoun nods from his position in Seungwoo’s lap.

Seungyoun continues, “But Wooseok’s a really nice guy, Seungyoun, and he’s been through a lot. I know you thought you were doing what’s best for you, but you don’t only have yourself to think of now. That’s what you did the moment you decided to keep this from him.”

“So,” Seungyoun trails off, “is dinner not enough?”

Seungwoo chuckles. “It’s a start.”

• • •

It’s weird, dating during Produce, but Seungyoun wants to do this right. He dons his best clothes and spritzes himself with his most luxurious cologne. But nothing, not even Chanel Bleu, can mask the nerves eating at his insides.

He meets Wooseok by the vans. When their eyes meet, ice settles in Seungyoun’s back. He already messed this up once, and he doesn’t want to do it again—this is his soulmate they’re talking about.

And that’s another thing: Seungyoun is going to confess tonight. To everything. To the heat that curls his insides whenever he sees Wooseok, the warmth that fills his mouth, the marks they share. Everything.

But first—

“Who knew you could be so sexy?” Wooseok starts, looking him up and down. Wooseok mimics his words from after their team won all those weeks ago. He goes so far as imitating his part from Yes or No.

When Wooseok drags his hands across his midsection, his shirt rises just slightly. It takes everything in him not to glance down at the mark he knows is there.

Shocked, a laugh tumbles from Seungyoun’s lips. 

Is it really going to be this easy? Seungyoun offers to take Wooseok out and they’re already back to joking with each other, settling back into that easy rhythm between them?

Wooseok smile grows mischievous around the corners, his eyes sharp around the edge. “After all, you’ve been ignoring me for weeks.”

No, it won’t be that easy.

Sheepish, Seungyoun brings a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you going to spend all of tonight apologizing?” Wooseok tugs them inside the van, sliding his hand into Seungyoun’s. “That’ll get boring really quick, and I don't like boring. Might as well go back to the dorms now.”

He feigns turning back, but Seungyoun tightens his hold on his hand.

“Fine,” he huffs out, reluctantly letting go. “I’ll stop apologizing.”

Wooseok smiles.

“But I _am_ really sorry.”

The smile slides off Wooseok’s face. For a moment, his eyes shine, vulnerable and bare, but it’s gone before Seungyoun can process it.

“I know you are,” he says simply, before settling back into his seat.

Seungyoun is dying to reach for his hand, to curl their fingers together. Instead, they spend the ride in silence. Once they pull up, Wooseok lets out a started laugh—

“A hot dog restaurant?”

Seungyoun grins at him. “I thought we could do something light to celebrate making it to the top 20.”

Usually, whatever time the two got together—before Seungyoun started avoiding him—was in quiet moments on stolen time, tucked away in the shadows. Seungyoun had a lot of friends, some more dedicated than most, and he often spent time with them.

Tonight is different for them. For one, it’s just them—no Jinhyuk, no Seungwoo or Byungchan or Yohan or Hangyul. No one except them, the way it had been back when they were both in B Class, curled against each other. Them against the world.

Two, it’s intimate in a way things never are between them. Of course, there’s always been the undercurrent of electricity running through all of their interactions—from the moment Wooseok approached him with a sports drink that night to the awkward silence reigning between them as they walked back from dinner with Jinhyuk, Seungwoo, and Byungchan.

But tonight is different. Warmer. The night air rests hot and heavy in his mouth as he orders for them, paying for their drinks and meal.

When Seungyoun returns to their table, Wooseok grabs at his food and eyes him in silence.

“You’re so dumb, Seungyoun,” he laughs out, before digging in. Seungyoun doesn’t answer, struck speechless. By the time he’s halfway through his meal, Seungyoun is still staring at him, mouth agape. “Dumb _and_ cute. Close your mouth.”

His mouth snaps shut, reaching for his drink. The nerves in his stomach won’t settle enough for him to eat. “How am I dumb?”

He ignores the _cute_ part, his face warming in embarrassment.

Wooseok meets his eyes. He tuts. “Always ignoring what’s right in front of you.”

Seungyoun’s eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?”

Wooseok stares at him, eyes narrowed. Elegantly, like the prince everyone’s dubbed him, he pats at the corners of his mouth with a napkin—like they’re not just eating hot dogs at midnight in a medium-tier establishment with giggling fans behind them pretending not to be taking pictures.

“How did you like working with Zico?”

At the topic change, Seungyoun’s head spins.

What? “What?”

“How did you like working with Zico?” he repeats, as though talking to a child.

Seungyoun doesn’t know how Wooseok has people convinced he’s some cold, emotional prince. The man holds more secrets and crannies than even the most ancient societies—and Seungyoun is slowly beginning to uncover each one.

“It was fine.” With a glance, Wooseok implores him to say more. “Fun. I mean.. it was Zico, you know?”

Wooseok smiles.

Encouraged, Seungyoun continues, not afraid of rambling. He’s done that before, and Wooseok always takes it in stride. “If I debut, I guess it’d be fun to have more opportunities like that. Maybe we could perform my own songs, you know? Slower stuff. Not that I wouldn’t love any music given to us. There’s just a power in being able to create your own sound.”

The smile on Wooseok’s face grows. “When.”

“Huh?”

He spins his beverage on the table. “When.”

“When what?”

“You’re so dumb, Seungyoun,” he laughs, “you said _if_ you debut when you should have said _when_ you debut.”

Seungyoun’s face burns. “I-“

“You ranked within the debut line today, Seungyoun. Even if you don’t believe it, you’re going to debut.”

“But what if today was just a fluke?” Seungyoun whispers. He doesn't ruminate on his insecurities often, but the thought plagues him. Here and now with Wooseok, he feels comfortable enough to give the monster a voice. “What if I only ranked that high because of the benefit?”

The look in Wooseok’s eyes mirror his gaze from that first night, when Seungyoun called him _Wooseok-ssi_.

“You‘re _going_ to debut, Seungyoun.”

Wooseok sounds so sure. Seungyoun releases a breath he didn’t know he had been holding ever since his name was called sixth. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, _when_ we debut.”

For a moment, they sit in silence, sharing smiles between each other. Night passes between them slowly, 

“Do you-”

“Should we-”

They both start. Under the dim lighting, Wooseok’s face pinks.

Seungyoun takes a chance, a smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t want this night to end.”

“Then don’t let it.”

• • •

Seungyoun is going to tell Wooseok they’re soulmates. He is. Really.

But between being asked to take pictures with some fans at the restaurant to deciding what to do after, the words never leave Seungyoun’s lips. 

_I still have time_ , he convinces himself, walking side by side as they talk and move aimlessly.

It’s then, half past one, their knuckles brushing against each other, that Seungyoun realizes he could have this for the next five years—stolen nights with the… the love of his life.

The love of his life. Seungyoun’s gaze flickers to the side, taking in all of Wooseok—his mouth dries, full of emotion and words unsaid.

Wooseok and Seungwoo are right. He _is_ dumb.

Seungyoun opens his mouth, finally, to confess, but before he can, Wooseok is clutching onto his hand and pulling him into a late-night grocery store they’ve passes three times on their circular walk.

“We should get ice cream!” he exclaims, still holding onto his hand. Dazed, Seungyoun allows himself to be pulled. In the rush, the words slide back down his throat.

Another lost opportunity. Seungyoun sighs.

With childlike wonder, Wooseok drags them towards the ice cream. He bounces with joy, as Seungyoun smiles back at him. Is this what love is? Months spent tucked into each other until their hearts bleed together? Late night grocery store runs for ice cream?

Debuting together?

Seungyoun’s body grows warm at the thought. Maybe he’s never known love before this moment, but this certainly feels like it.

Wooseok takes two popsicles out of the freezer. “And we need cookies!”

Seungyoun wants to tell him that they’re meant to be dieting, but he doesn’t want to risk crushing Wooseok’s joy. He stays silent. Like he did before, Wooseok tugs at his hand and pulls him towards the cookie aisle.

“I can’t reach it,” Wooseok says, turning his pout towards Seungyoun. He smirks and bats his eyelashes at him. “Get it for me?”

Seungyoun makes a show of rolling his eyes—the height difference isn’t _that_ exaggerated—but Seungyoun’s finds himself reaching for the top shelf anyway.

His shirt rides up as he does. Behind him, he hears a gasp and then—

The sound of a tub of ice cream hitting the floor.

Seungyoun realizes his mistake as soon as it happens. He turns around slowly. Immeidately, the bright energy of ten seconds ago, a minute ago, flees. Tension settles in the air.

“I was going to tell you.”

“When?” Wooseok bites out through clenched teeth.

For a moment, Seungyoun is reminded of the moment that passed between them earlier. Not _if_ he debuts, but when.

It’s the same word in a completely different context. One soothed him, calmed him as his insecurities flared up.

Now, his mistakes are highlighted under the gleam of a thousand fluorescent lights.

“Tonight.” Seungyoun meets Wooseok’s eyes, but Wooseok averts his gaze. He repeats, “I promise I was going to tell you.”

“I don’t know how much a promise from you means right now, Seungyoun.”

Ouch. Every word from Wooseok stings him where it hurts, flares across his body like an ache. He would take hours of excruciating dance practice to this—the way Wooseok won’t even look him in the eyes, the shrill ringing in his ears, the tears crawling up his throat to rest in his mouth.

“This is why you were avoiding me.”

Seungyoun doesn’t answer. If he speaks, he’ll cry.

Wooseok’s face is vulnerable in a way he never his. For the first time since they met, Seungyoun knows exactly what he’s thinking—and he wishes he didn’t.

“I kept thinking I did something wrong.” Wooseok says, turning his back towards him. That hurts more than any words he could have said. “Kept wondering, were my jokes too harsh? Did I hurt your feelings without knowing? I tried so hard and you wouldn’t even _talk_ to me.”

“I-” 

“I think I knew.” Wooseok says, bending down to pick up his fallen tub of ice cream. “You’re not subtle, Seungyoun. At all. You look down so often when we’re together, and you don’t do that with anyone else.”

He turns back towards him. His glassy eyes shine with unshed tears. “I thought I was just being hopeful. Like I was wishing for something that would never happen.”

Wooseok steps closer, close enough for Seungyoun to feel his heat and his anger and his _hurt_. “Now I know you were just being selfish.”

Seungyoun swallows down his pain. He’s learning too late: this isn’t just about him.

“Just,” finally, the tears spill over, as Wooseok walks away from him, “give me some time.”

The words echo in Seungyoun’s ears long after Wooseok has paid and tucking himself into the back row of the van.

 _Just give me some time_.

There, sandwiched between cookies and loss, Cho Seungyoun crumbles.

• • •

Wooseok tries not to think about his hiatus often, but there’s one memory he tucks close to his chest: warmth melting in his mouth in the middle of summer, tucked into Jinhyuk’s side, as an animated film—Jinhyuk’s choice—played on his laptop.

Wooseok had long stopped pretending to watch the film, eyes stuck on the straight lines of his room, counting four corners until numbers bled across his mind and rendered him immobile. At some point, his shirt slipped and there, bare for the world to see, was his soulmark.

Jinhyuk had seen his mark before; they were bandmates, first, and brothers before that. _Of course_ Jinhyuk had seen his mark, just as he had seen Jinhyuk’s and Minsoo’s and the other members'.

But that had been before. Then, months into his hiatus, Wooseok was different, stuck battling a monster in his throat and lead in his stomach that just refused to go away.

Jinhyuk, who was usually so good at respecting boundaries, saw something, maybe the fear in Wooseok’s eyes or the tremble of his hands as he yanked his shirt down, and pulled Wooseok close. Jinhyuk clasped Wooseok’s shaking hands between his own.

In the background, an animated snowman was singing about summer. Wooseok swallowed. Summer tasted like salt buried under his tongue, like lies balanced on the small of his back.

Jinhyuk steadied his hands. “Do you want to meet them?”

There had been an uncomfortable, cloying pause, as Wooseok got his breathing under control. Then—

“No.”

Jinhyuk hummed in understanding and returned his attention to the movie. He was like that.

But once Wooseok got started, he couldn’t stop. “Not right now anyway. Not when I’m such a mess.”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that,” Jinhyuk mumbled. He turned his attention back to Wooseok. “Do you hope for anyone? Like some people want someone smart or tall. What do _you_ want? ”

Wooseok paused, thinking. “Someone kind. Someone who listens and actually sees me, not just a mask. There are other things, but most of all, I just want someone who’s really,” his voice broke, “kind.” 

And with that, they returned their attention to the movie. But if his hand strayed more and more to his right hip, Jinhyuk never mentioned it—and Wooseok never told.

• • •

He _is_ really kind. That’s Wooseok’s first thought when he sees the mark on Seungyoun’s hip. 

The second is, Seungyoun knew all along. It had been obvious: the way his gaze locked onto Wooseok’s right hip at random moments, the way his body reacted whenever he heard the word _soulmate_. Seungyoun was so _obvious_.

Wooseok thought _he_ was being obvious, too, about his intentions. All the time spent together, closer than most friends would ever dare to be, the flirting, the pining — Seungyoun was _dumb_.

How many opportunities had Wooseok given him to come clean, to confess? Just that night at dinner, Wooseok laid down so many openings, and Seungyoun missed them all.

Wiping his tears, Wooseok walks away from Seungyoun. He pays for the cold treats through blurry vision and a choked up _thank you_ when the cashier checks him out.

When he returns to the van, he tucks his head into the window and allows the tears to fall. After this, Wooseok is back to being the unflappable, unfeeling Prince.

Just until debut.

He doesn’t acknowledge Seungyoun when he enters, ignoring the way it bites at his insides—doesn’t this all feel a bit familiar?

• • •

Things end like a starburst exploding behind Seungyoun’s eyes, until all that’s left is the impression snapping back at his skin and the mark that plagues him before he goes to sleep at night.

One would think between preparing for the finale and a possible debut on the line, all other things would fall to the wayside—but not memory of Kim Wooseok pressed against his side or the feel of his palm in his.

Recording for the finale goes slowly. They dance around each other; Seungyoun, Mr. Popular, spreads his time out with the likes of Seungwoo and Hangyul; after being reproached and glared at by Jinhyuk, Seungyoun thinks that particular friendship is dead or on its way to dying—all because of his stupidity.

To the naked eye, things are normal between Seungyoun and Wooseok—or, as normal as can be with a spot in the group on the line. For trainees who aren’t Wooseok or Yohan, who’ve ranked first and second pretty consistently, the last two weeks are a test in patience. 

For a while, Seungyoun exists on a livewire, his body high-strung and on the precipice of either greatness or a meltdown. To My World and Dream For You could be his last chance at achieving his dream; he thinks, mournfully, isn’t that why he sacrificed his relationship with Wooseok? For a chance at standing on the stage?

Now that the moment approaches, as stylists put their finishing touches on him just before he goes out for their final ranking announcement, Seungyoun can’t help but feel that the moment falls flat. This is what he gave up warmth on his skin for? For a few moments yanked from his gut, singing notes reeled from his aching body, when all he wants is the warmth of a body next to him?

No, this isn’t what he wanted—and he’s realizing it too late.

The stylists leave him, and he glances in the mirror. He looks good. Debut-ready.

His eyes are dull.

In the reflection, Wooseok appears, causing Seungyoun’s body to jolt upright. They make eye contact in the mirror. His hand shoots towards his hip.

Before Wooseok can escape him, Seungyoun rushes out of his chair. Wooseok attempts to run, to hide in the safety of Jinhyuk, but Seungyoun dogs his heels.

“Please.”

Wooseok turns on his heel, facing Seungyoun.

If Seungyoun thinks _he_ looks good, there’s no word strong enough to describe Wooseok. His eyes pierce him.

A pause, then—

Wooseok walks to an isolated, quiet corner of the room, Seungyoun fast on his heels. When Wooseok crosses his arms over his chest, Seungyoun is hit with a sense of _deja vu_ ; Seungyoun just keeps making the same mistakes.

“Is this the part where you say you’re sorry then hurt me again?”

Seungyoun steps forward. “You said _when_ we debut.”

Wooseok eyes widen, confused. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Seungyoun steels his spine. “I’m going to debut.”

Wooseok remains silent.

“And you’re going to debut.”

“I don’t see what that has to-”

Seungyoun steps even closer. He almost forgets they’re not alone, but stops himself in time. They’re surrounded by multiple pairs of prying eyes.

“We’re going to debut together,” he says. He meets Wooseok’s eyes and brings a hand to the back of his neck. He repeats himself, “We’re going to debut, and I’m an idiot.”

Wooseok’s expression cracks, a smile splitting across his face. “The biggest idiot.”

“So big.”

The smile falls off Seungyoun’s face. Behind them, trainees start lining up for the end.

Seungyoun steps even closer, reaching for Wooseok’s hand. He reaches a hand forward and places it on his hip—on his mark. “I’m sorry.”

Wooseok nods.

“I should have told you.”

A pause. Seungyoun swallows. “I’m in love with you.”

Wooseok gasps, though there’s no shock on his face—just emotion curling the outside of his lips into a moon and warmth blooming across his cheeks.

Seungyoun grabs Wooseok and drags him close.

Wooseok buries his face into his shoulder, but Seungyoun hears him loud and clear when he says, “I love you, too, idiot.”

And if there’s a stolen moment after Seungyoun is announced fifth and Wooseok second where Wooseok pulls Seungyoun close, no one mentions it—because they’re debuting. They get five years of this and more.

Someone please save Seungwoo.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on twitter @ tokyojoun. expect more content from me i have tons of ideas hehe and i'm jobless. i wanna say my next fics won't be as angsty but heh... we shall see


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